Yes, we have no bananas...

Miss Griffiths, who taught us five year olds at Troedyrallt School in Pwllheli, burst into the classroom one morning in a great state of excitement.



'Guess what? A train full of bananas has come into Pwllheli this morning. Enough to give every single child in the town a banana each. And all your mothers have to take their ration books to the greengrocers' to prove how many children they've got so they can get a banana for all of you. All your mothers are queuing up right now and they'll be queuing all morning. Those of you who go home for lunch will find a banana waiting. But if you have school dinners you'll have to wait until you go home at the end of the day.'

We all gasped. Our eyes turned to the bowl of wax faux fruit adorning the window sill, where an improbably yellow banana jostled with two suspiciously florid apples. We all knew what bananas looked like, but none of us had ever tasted one.



I put my hand up. 'Please Miss Griffiths, my mother won't be in the queue. She's teaching at Porthmadog so I won't have a banana.'

'Nonsense!' she replied. 'Your Auntie Kate will be there in the queue.'

I wasn't convinced. My Great Aunt Kate had to queue up every morning for bread and meat. Standing for a long time time made her legs swell and she grumbled bitterly about this. I didn't think she'd be willing to queue all morning for one banana just for me. I'd be the only child in town never to know the taste of a banana.

But when I got home at midday there she was collapsed in the old wooden chair by the kitchen range, where the fire burned merrily, as always. Her worst leg, propped up on another chair, was twice its usual size. Smiling proudly, she nodded at the table laid for lunch. In its centre, on a plate, lay the BANANA in all its golden-yellow glory.

Forgetting to say thank you, I was going to grab it there and then. 'Wait!' said Lydia Kate sternly. 'That's your pudding. You have to eat your lunch first.' I have no recollection of the first course but I'm sure I wolfed it down pretty quickly, eyeing the coveted fruit all the while. At last came the supreme moment. About to bite into the exquisitely coloured flesh (yellow being my favourite colour), I was again foiled by Auntie Kate who said it must be peeled first. To my chagrin she stripped off the thick yellow cover like peeling a leather glove from a pale finger. I stared. The poor, denuded banana was white.

White as the inside of an apple, or mashed potato, boring things I ate every day. Also it had little black specks on the end. So I took a knife, sliced off the end and threw it in the fire. To my annoyance the newly revealed piece also had little black specks in. I cut off another thick slice and threw it away.

'What are you doing, you silly girl?'

'It's got black spots on!'

'Those are the seeds. They're supposed to be there. They're inside every banana and they go all the way through the middle.'

I didn't believe her. Not until I'd sliced off and discarded another 3 chunks despite her protests. Then, seized by an awful doubt, I cut a bit off the opposite end. Sure enough, there were the little black seeds in the centre.

'I would have eaten those bits you threw away,' she moaned. 'What a waste. What a wicked waste. You naughty, ungrateful girl!'

Subdued, I ate the remainder. A pleasant enough taste, but far, far short of the anticipated ambrosia. And when my mother came home that evening she was assailed by heart-rending wails about queuing up all morning for a banana only to have me throw away nearly half of it. My mother decreed that the next time I was allocated a banana I should give it to Auntie Kate. I nodded meekly. Bananas were over-rated anyway.